


A Decidedly Direct Approach

by RainbowWhale (WingedWhale)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Series 3 "missing scene", holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedWhale/pseuds/RainbowWhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An extension of the "Sherlock throws Mycroft against a wall" scene with about 200% more holmescest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Decidedly Direct Approach

**Author's Note:**

> written for a kink meme prompt where Mycroft fights back after Sherlock pins him to the wall.

In a flash of lightning fast reflexes, Sherlock lunged forward and snatched Mycroft’s left elbow in a sudden vice-like grip. With the grace and precision of a predatory cat, he twisted Mycroft’s arm up and back as he propelled him into the wall.

            “Aaahh!” Mycroft cried, clearly startled. Sherlock wrenched his arm up higher still.

            “Do not appall me when I’m high,” Sherlock said, his voice dangerously soft.

            Mycroft relaxed a hair, leaning his head back to cast a glance over his shoulder.

            “ _Really,_ Sherlock? You must be on the best drugs of your life if you would do _this_ here _._ And in the presence of dear John.”

            Fuming, his breath coming in audible pants, Sherlock violently shoved Mycroft against the wall.

            “Shut up _now,_ oh brother mine,” Sherlock spat venomously.

            “Mycroft, don’t say another word,” said John, speaking for the first time. “He could snap you in two . . . and right now I’m slightly worried that he might.”

            Mycroft looked on at John Watson dispassionately. He sniffed in disdain and returned his gaze squarely in front of him.

            “My brother _does_ so love to be dramatic, you know, Dr. Watson. He should have been an actor.”

            Sherlock moved to throw his knee into Mycroft, but the elder Holmes took the opportunity to suddenly drop his shoulder and twist out of Sherlock’s grip just at the precise moment Sherlock was unbalanced as he shifted his weight.

            “Say another word, Mycroft and I swear I’ll make you fucking rue this day for the rest of your life!” Sherlock shouted as he wheeled around to face Mycroft.

            Mycroft’s eyes glittered serenely, with a current of menacing calm. He made a show of wiping dust from the sleeve Sherlock had seized.

            “Don’t be foolish, Sherlock.” Mycroft intoned quietly. “I know damn well what you’re playing at and it won’t work. That I can absolutely promise you.”

            “You aren’t omniscient! You can’t know for certain what I can or can’t do, Mycroft!”

            The two Holmes brothers started slowly circling each other, slowly, like champion prize fighters before the first punch is thrown. Mycroft inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring in growing ire.

            “I’m warning you Sherlock, don’t meddle in things you don’t understand.”

            “Oh, I understand quite enough I assure you.”

             Mycroft snorted derisively.

            “What you fucking _think_ you know versus what you actually do are two very different things!”

            John stared at Mycroft, taking an unconscious step back at the man’s openly vicious display of anger.

            “I’m not afraid of you, _dear brother,”_ Sherlock said, his voice dripping with contempt.

            Mycroft’s lips quirked up into a terrifyingly smug little smile.

            “You never were, Sherlock, _darling._ I certainly don’t expect you to start fearing me now. However you _must_ realise that there is a veritable plethora of other methods at my disposal to make you see sense.”

            Sherlock glared at his brother in seething anger. “ _Get out_.”

            Mycroft raised a slender brow in haughty amusement.

             “You simply are the drollest creature when you’re furiously upset, you know that? Much like a spitting tabby, I’d say.”

            “I said get out of the flat, Mycroft,” Sherlock told him in silken tones.

            “You’re making me wish I’d left you to die in Serbia. Must you _always_ be such an ungrateful little self-important shit?”

            “You’re afraid,” Sherlock said his lips twitching. “You. Are. _Actually. Afraid.”_

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

            “It’s the only possibility that make’s sense. You’re afraid of Magnussen.”

            Mycroft let out a short peel of indignant laughter. “ _That’s_ the best you can come up with? Seriously?”

            “As I said, it’s the only possibility that makes even a remote lick of sense. What do you think he’ll . . . _oh . . . **oh.**_ I see. Interesting.”

            “ _Interesting?_ Perhaps your brain was damaged during your Serbian interrogations, Sherlock, because that word is not something I’d associate with Magnussen discovering such things about you.”

             “All eventualities will be accounted for. You needn’t worry about my precious reputation,” Sherlock said meaningfully.

            Mycroft pinned him with an absolutely deadly stare.

            “My dear little brother, it’s not your reputation that concerns me now is it?”

            “Here’s a word of advice Mycroft: take your bloody dull whinging to someone who actually cares! Now good-bye!”

            Without warning Mycroft stepped forward, and gracefully hooked his left leg round Sherlock’s shin. He then yanked backwards and twisted Sherlock in a neat pirouette, slamming the consulting detective’s back into the wall with a resounding crash. Sherlock winced in pain as Mycroft pinned him forcibly to the wall, using his body weight to make it impossible for his younger brother to move.

            “Mycroft!” John yelped from the side.

            Mycroft swallowed, his eyes narrowing as he looked down on Sherlock with deep cold satisfaction. Sherlock made a valiant attempt to struggle out of the hold, just as Mycroft himself had done minutes earlier. However, Mycroft used his extra height to his advantage and firmly planted himself against Sherlock’s legs, his hands holding Sherlock’s wrists tightly above his head. Seeing that resistance was futile, Sherlock relaxed within the confines of Mycroft’s grip.

            “A word of the wise, _brother mine,”_ Mycroft breathed, his words a nearly sensual whisper, hanging a fraction of a centimetre above Sherlock’s ear. “Don’t lay a hand on me like that ever again.” He leaned in closer, his lips just barely grazing Sherlock’s skin. He then dropped his voice to a barely audible purr. “You do and I’ll personally ensure you suffer in ways that make your time in Serbia look like a trip to Disneyland.” Mycroft then lifted his head and turned his attention on John Watson. The army doctor had gone white as a sheet, his eyes wide and staring.

            “Still think he’ll, what was it you said, oh yes, that’s right, ‘ _break me in two_ ’?”

            “Please, for the love of God, just end this civilly will you?” John pleaded.

            Mycroft returned his attention to Sherlock who stared at him petulantly. His eyes sparkled with a slightly sinister delight.

            “You want me to be civil?” Mycroft asked quietly. “Oh indeed, Dr. Watson, I can be _very_ civil. Mmm, _affectionate_ even.”

            He then leaned in and slanted his lips fully over Sherlock’s. Sherlock stiffened as if he’d been electrocuted as Mycroft forcibly deepened the kiss. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered closed and the tension in his body melted away as he quickly responded in kind, opening his mouth to admit his brothers forcefully questing tongue. Mycroft plundered Sherlock’s mouth without mercy, his skilled lips and tongue driving Sherlock into a lust-filled haze of enthusiastic complacency. Mycroft ended the kiss with a sharp bite to the corner of Sherlock’s lower lip.

            Mycroft then stepped away and regarded both Sherlock and John with an imperious expression of boredom.

            “And _now_ I shall take my leave.”

            He then slipped out of the flat, merrily twirling his umbrella, a jaunty little bounce to his steps. When Sherlock heard the door close, he turned a terrified gaze to his best friend.

            “John . . . I . . .”

            “You know how you said your brain worked by deleting unnecessary information?” the doctor asked.

            “Yes but-  
            “I’m deleting the entire last quarter of an hour.”


End file.
